


Reconciliation with myself

by tenshinoakuma



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshinoakuma/pseuds/tenshinoakuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good leaders seem to know what to do, but Roland never claimed to be a good leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciliation with myself

Against all logic, vomiting half-digested human flesh in front of Cielo fills Roland with shame. Maybe it’s because he’d treated Cielo so _badly_ , yet here Cielo is, rubbing his heaving back and saying things with the intention of making him feel better. But all Roland can think of is how he’s having trouble adjusting to his demon, when he’s certain it hadn’t been a problem for the AIs.

He shouldn’t have finished that bottle; its contents are all over the pavement now anyway. What a waste.

...He needs a drink.

Roland shakily stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry for slowing you down. I’m sure you want to get back to your friends.”

Surprise crosses Cielo’s face, and the naturalness of Cielo’s expression -- it had been confusion, once. Then came alarm. Pain. Desperation -- never fails to amaze Roland. The AIs have pushed past the Uncanny Valley, which would unnerve Roland even more than they already do if it wasn’t for their unnatural hair and outlandish clothing.

“Why’re you apologising, bro? I ain’t gonna leave you behind.”

“You don’t have to stay.” After what they’d done to Cielo, Cielo has every right to abandon him. “We haven’t treated you very well.”

His vision blurs, and Roland sways. Cielo and Fred are by his side in an instant, steadying. “What’re you talking about?” Though Cielo shoots Roland a smile, there’s a downward turn to his eyebrows. _Pity._ And it fills Roland with shame. “No one should deal with this alone.”

_I should_ , he thinks, _That’s what I deserve._

“C’mon, Roland!” Fred’s voice takes on that lilt he uses when trying to convince Roland, even when Roland doesn’t want to be convinced. “He just wants to help.”

Steadying himself, Roland pushes his glasses back up his nose. “...Sorry. You’re right. ...Thanks.”

Cielo shoots Roland a grin, and shows him how to command lightning.

 

What throws Roland off the most, he thinks, as Argilla asks Fred, “What is that creature?” is their lack of common knowledge combined with their adult appearance.

Roland can’t help but share in Adil’s attitude towards the Embryon: they are merely AI, no more sapient than robots. He’s seen the records, seen how they coldly kill. But it’s difficult to maintain that position when he watches Argilla raptly watch Fred catch a moth in between his hands, careful not to crush it.

“This thing?” he says, and opens his hands to show Argilla, her eyes lighting up in delight as it flutters out, unharmed, from his palms. “It’s a moth,” he explains with more patience and less incredulity than when he’d first met the AIs. “They’re attracted to light. Look.” And Fred points at the moth as it flits over to the swarm teeming around a flickering electric lamp.

“Why do they fly towards the light?” Argilla asks, the same curiosity that had prompted her to take up Roland’s offer of a drink lining her voice.

A shrug from Fred. “I don’t know. They just do.”

Argilla’s brows draw together -- Roland’s certain she isn’t satisfied with that answer -- but when she glances up and sees him watching, her expression turns cold before she looks away.

A hand lands firmly on his shoulder, and Roland nearly jumps in surprise. “She’ll consider you a comrade.”

And as quiet as he’d arrived, Serph steps past Roland to confer with Gale before they enter Karma City. A moment, and Serph stares pointedly at Roland for a few seconds before Roland realises he’s being summoned to join their discussion. Roland stares back, laughs softly to himself, before he adjusts his glasses and follows, stealing a glance in the direction of Argilla, whose arms are crossed.

Roland isn’t convinced.

 

A tower climbed, a camaraderie reversed, and Roland can’t help but feel like an intrusion to the demonstration of raw _human_ emotion that he cannot share in.

 

In all his life, Roland has never ridden in a military plane before. He’s flown across the country a few times, back when the sun didn’t bring the wrath of God upon humanity. But flying in a military plane had merely been the stuff of his imagination.

Until now.

His novel doesn’t even involve flying military planes, but the part of him that’s still a novelist -- as bad as he is -- prompts him to attempt to keep an eye on what Gale is doing even though he wants nothing more than to throw up, and the contents of his last meal don’t help. A hand lands on his shoulder, gentle, and upon looking up, Roland’s eyebrows raise when he sees it belongs to Argilla.

“Are you alright?” There’s obvious concern in her expression and a glance in Serph’s direction shows him watching, but saying nothing.

Roland returns his attention to Argilla, pushing his glasses back up -- when did they slide so far down his nose? -- before he swallows down his rising bile. “The motion of the plane,” he says vaguely, closing his eyes.

Confusion lines her voice. “What do you mean?”

Fred openly laughs, not being sick at all. “It means he’s airsick! Roland might puke!” Fred sounds entirely too gleeful at having something to hold over Roland’s head.

_I might puke on you_, Roland thinks childishly, but a sudden swerve and he’s doing all he can not to go through with that mental threat. Both Argilla’s follow up question and Roland’s thoughts on vomiting are cut off by a forceful explosion that flings Roland back into his seat and Gale’s calm statement, “We’ve been hit.”

While the descent needs work, Roland has never been more grateful to have his feet on solid ground. The fact they’re all in one piece and actually where they need to be is the icing on the cake. “For someone whose demon controls wind, your flying skills are rubbish,” Roland jokes weakly.

He must have looked more rattled than he’d previously thought; Cielo lands next to him and reverts, grinning. “At least it wasn’t that big lug flying.”

There’s an odd quiet that follows that statement; there can only be one person Cielo is referring to. Roland supposes Heat’s betrayal is all too fresh in their minds. He adjusts his glasses before standing, a good excuse not to look any of them in the eye. “If the Cyber Shaman was with you, I’m sure you’d be well protected.”

Roland isn’t so sure about Serph, though; it seems there’s something personal going on between Serph and Heat. As if sensing Roland’s thoughts and his stare, Serph’s gaze slides away.

Gale’s voice abruptly cuts through the silence like the blades on his demon’s feet. “Heat has been increasingly susceptible to illogical outbursts of emotions. Sera is the only constant.” Roland doesn’t miss the look exchanged between Gale and Serph. Roland still can’t quite understand how they -- or any of the Embryon, for that matter -- communicate purely through their gazes. Gale uncrosses his arms and turns. “Let us go.”

 

When he has a moment alone with Serph, Roland doesn’t know what to say. _His_ leader had always filled the silences. Talks of ideals, motivational speeches, Greg’s leadership had always been big. Loud. Not at all like his own leadership.

And the opposite of Serph’s, really.

“How did you become leader?” Roland asks, curiosity strong enough to compel him to ask the question.

Serph’s head tilts in Roland’s direction -- Roland’s learnt that motion means he has Serph’s attention -- before he answers in that quiet, even tone. “I’ve always been leader.”

“Oh.” Roland doesn’t know what to say. He supposes _choice_ isn’t something they have much liberty to exercise, even now, and that thought sends a twinge of guilt into his chest.

Serph turns to face him, eyes gazing into his own. “I don’t always want to be.”

A pause. Roland blinks. “...You don’t want to be leader?”

Serph nods, but doesn’t elaborate.

“That’s a surprise.” The words slip out before Roland can stop them.

Serph tilts his head, but holds Roland’s gaze. Roland shifts, trying not to make it obvious that Serph’s stare _unnerves_ him sometimes.

“Well...” Roland stalls, conflicted. He doesn’t know what the Embryon think of him. They’re driven, direct, with purpose. And he’s… not. They’ve even connected with Fred better than he has, and… Roland takes a breath, before his thoughts distract him from the conversation at hand. “...You don’t really come off as not wanting to lead. Good leaders seem to enjoy leading.” _Good leaders seem to know what to do._

Silence bothers Roland. His mind is good at filling it with all kinds of unpleasantries. But he’d never been good at filling it with talk, either; that had been Greg. Roland doesn’t know if Serph knows it, but his silence makes him hard to read. It always makes Roland wonder just what is going on in that head of his.

Roland is about to excuse himself -- the silence is just getting to the point where it’s awkward -- when Serph suddenly says, “I know where I lead my people.” He turns his gaze upwards, towards the sky and its blazing black sun. “Once we’re there, there will be no need for me to lead.” Serph’s gaze falls back to Roland’s. “Where do you lead yours?”

_I don’t know_ , Roland thinks, but finds himself saying, “Somewhere better than _this_.”

 

Even though Serph is very different from Greg, he’d always seemed like someone who would always be _there_ , just like Greg.

And just like Greg, Serph suddenly, _violently_ , disappears from Roland’s life.

 

Serph’s death hurts them deeply, and this time, it hurts him, too. But there’s very little time. Roland had spent years mourning Greg’s death. He’d be lucky if he had an hour to mourn Serph’s. But, as numb as he feels -- _some people are just too good for this place_ , he thinks -- Roland knows he has a duty. A duty he hasn’t carried out very well in the past, but there’s no time like the present to fix that.

A cliche, but he’d never considered himself to be a good author.

The Lokapala are ready to support the Embryon in breaking into the power plant.

He approaches Gale to ask for their status.

When he sees Gale staring at his hand -- two tag rings -- Roland ends up saying instead, “I’m sorry.”

Gale’s gaze lifts to meet his. “What are you sorry for?”

Even though Gale’s expression tends towards a perpetual frown, Roland still finds him easier to read than Serph. In front of the others, Gale had been focused on their next steps. But right now, there is sadness in his eyes. Roland adjusts his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. There’s many things he’s sorry for -- forcing them to help the Lokapala, succumbing to fear and killing their own, treating Cielo badly -- but he settles on, “Your losses.”

Gale isn’t Serph, but sometimes Roland finds them very similar. “They are also your losses.”

“Well...” Roland hesitates a moment, his protest sticking in his throat. “...yes. I suppose you’re right.”

Gale crosses his arms. “Like Serph, Lupa also sacrificed himself so we could live.”

Something twists inside Roland and his mouth turns dry. “...That was how Greg died.”

 

Of course, Roland’s own death isn’t as quick as he had intended it to be. He regrets not being strong enough to finish things on his own, but he’s glad Serph was right about Argilla.

 

When Seraph walks -- no, _floats_ \-- over to him, Roland isn’t sure how to address… well. He’s never even had the opportunity to speak to Sera, but Seraph is also Serph, the leader he’s come to know in their brief time alive in each other’s presence. He can’t say he’s ever had the experience of talking to someone he both doesn’t and does know, but he hides that awkwardness by telling them (that seems to be the most appropriate pronoun, when they are both one and two), “It’s about time the Embryon got back together again…” He manages a wan smile. “I’m actually kinda tired… I think I’ll just stay back and cheer you on from here.”

A beatific smile spreads across Seraph’s face as they rest a hand on his shoulder. A familiar action from an unfamiliar hand. “Thank you for your hard work.” Their smile is gentle, gentler than what Serph is-- _was_ capable of. "You can rest easy."

Roland looks away, embarrassed. He doesn’t deserve it. His reasons for allying with the Embryon hadn’t been altruistic. Rash decisions made while looking at the bottom of a bottle. He doesn’t deserve thanks for just trying to make up for his past mistakes. But while he doesn’t say anything -- he’s come to realise he finds it difficult to deny any of the AIs -- he can feel Seraph’s penetrating gaze on him. It’s that same gaze of Serph’s -- that gaze that always seems like it’s looking through him -- but gentler, as if Seraph sees him for who he is -- flaws and guilt and self-loathing -- and forgives him.

Roland swallows the lump in his throat.

He can’t accept it.

 

When they speak to God and Earth takes in streams of data, Roland closes his eyes and smiles, flowing back with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
